


Scar

by iybms



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post VLD Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iybms/pseuds/iybms
Summary: Lance catches Keith staring at his new scar in the mirror, and offers to see if he can help.  He succeeds, though maybe not in the way either of them expected.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 1206





	Scar

It's not that Keith minds it on aesthetic grounds, _per se_ ; it's that he's having a hard time getting used to seeing it.

They've stopped at a supply depot, the last populated planet on their way out of this galaxy. From here, they'd had a choice: travel along the rarefied IGM filaments from this galaxy cluster to the next, then the next, along the path of which they would go through galaxies and dwarf galaxies containing inhabitable and populated planets; or, skip the filament highway all together and head in a direct geodesic toward Earth through the supervoids, passing through galaxies much more rarely, perhaps once per phoeb.

In the large clusters containing older elliptical galaxies and more evolved planetary systems with mature quintessence, they might come across Balmera, which Allura and Coran suspect could help get their Lions charged faster. Along the way, it couldn't hurt to reassure Coalition contacts that Voltron isn't gone forever after "disappearing" during their last fight. (Keith still doesn't understand the timeskip, but Coran blamed it on proximity to the Castleship's infinite mass flash, and then Pidge and Hunk started talking about _time dilation_ , and all Keith gathered is that it had something to do with the gravitational potential well. He's a pilot, okay? Not an astrophysicist.)

Anyway, having quicker access to general supplies in case of emergencies would ease all of their minds.

But, after combining the Lions' system maps with the cosmological-scale neutral hydrogen maps on this supply depot and calculating paths across several routes, Pidge and Coran had reported that it would cost them almost a _decade_ of travel time.

And so, unsurprisingly, the vote had been unanimous. The voids it is.

And so―

They'd stocked up their cargo holds with the essentials ― "The _essentials_ , Lance. Where did you even find those?" "Facemasks _are_ essential! How fast are we gonna go batshit crazy on each other without proper R&R and self-care, Keith?" ― and some non-essentials, upon Lance's recommendation, and now they're boarded in what's more or less a local motel for the night. Their last night in civilization, for probably a while.

They have separate bedrooms and a shared common area, like a hostel, and every couple of rooms shares a washroom.

Keith is leaned in close to the mirror in his washroom, inspecting his reflection with a mix of curiosity and vexation, when Lance wanders in.

"Oh–"

"Lance," Keith pulls back quickly, and maybe _acting_ like he's embarrassed to have been caught is more incriminating than anything he was actually doing, Keith realizes in retrospect. No matter what Lance might have thought before, he'll certainly be compelled to tease Keith, now.

True to form and with no hesitation, Lance smirks and saunters toward the sink next to Keith's. "Big, bad, battle scar got you down, mullet?"

Keith turns back to the mirror, gripping the sides of the sink, as Lance turns on the tap and starts his night-time routine. "No," he says, "not really." Because okay, yeah, the scar, but Keith isn't _down_ about it. That's not it. "Not exactly."

"What, upset that your face won't look as photogenic on an Earth postage stamp now?" Lance suggests around rivulets of water. "You know there will probably be like, a whole set of us."

Keith rolls his eyes. "Only you would even imagine that, Lance."

"No, you just lack creativity."

"Pretty sure _you_ just have excessive ego."

"It matches my other _excessive_ parts." Lance glances up at him with a wet face and waggles his soggy eyebrows.

Keith sweeps a quick hand through the water stream and splashes the expression off his face, earning a little yelp. Laughing, Lance flicks a handful of water back at him, but then reaches down to grab some bottle of something or other and continue his routine.

Keith could just be done here. He could easily just leave Lance to wash and dry his face and moisturize and whatever else he does, alone, and spare himself the teasing. But there's no anger or hostility in Lance's ribbing these days. It's playful. It's Lance's form of camaraderie with him, and there's something kind of calming about the familiarity of it in this moment.

Lance is becoming more and more like this, somehow always exactly what Keith needs. Or maybe it's Keith who's coming to need Lance more and more. Either way, it's a little frightening. This dependence.

He should leave.

And he could. He could leave, yeah, but… Lance hums in mock thought and his neck slopes openly downward, exposing the smooth, brown skin of his nape. Keith lingers.

"So, okay," Lance says, "not the fame, huh? Then you must just be worried you won't get all the babes now."

A light scoff puffs out of Keith, accompanied by an incredulous smirk. He turns to face Lance fully, propping his hip on the sink with his arms crossed. "The babes?"

Lance is smirking too, conspiratorial, as he lathers some cleanser or other onto his face. "It's cool, man. Don't worry, chicks dig battle scars."

"Oh, great. What a relief," Keith replies. A chuckle escapes Lance, and Keith knows. Lance knows that Keith doesn't really give a fuck about that kind of thing, and Lance _knows_ that Keith knows that he knows that. Keith wonders if this is what it's like to have inside jokes with people.

He lets out a long breath and relaxes his shoulders. Then glances back to the mirror.

The ruddy, damaged streak of flesh on his right cheek reflects back at him in the glass, as relentlessly asymmetric as his feelings about his heritage, Shiro, his place on Team Voltron. When they'd finally had a chance to land and regroup after the battle with Lotor and the destruction of the Castle of Lions, the scar had still been sore and inflamed from his fight at the Project _Kuron_ base. Some time in their makeshift healing pod had helped, after Shiro got out of it. Turned out Keith had also been neglecting a fractured rib, which he'd thought had been only a contusion. (He hadn't thought much of _any_ of his injuries at the time; he'd gotten thrown around and bashed into so many things, and nothing had seemed particularly important compared to getting Shiro back or getting the Black Lion back to fight with the rest of the team.)

But by then, the scar had already set in.

He wonders if it will ever fade.

He wonders if the trigger-memory of Shiro's face above him, grinning and alight with malice, will fade, at least.

Maybe it's just, he thinks, that he still associates the scar with the event instead of with his face. He just needs to get used to it, stop being surprised by it. It's just part of _Keith's Face_ now. If he stares at his own reflection long and hard enough, he's pretty sure, he can make himself internalize that. Practice makes perfect. Patience yields focus.

"It's just," Keith finally begins, "I'm not used to it― being there yet. Being part of me. Like, being a feature on my face, instead of a wound from an attack." He chances a look back at Lance, who has rinsed and toweled off his face, and now caresses swaths of moisturizer along the dark planes of his face with practiced gentleness. "…You know?"

Lance is quiet for another few moments as he finishes smoothing the cream along his cheekbones, forehead, nose. When he finishes, he turns to face Keith, eyes meeting in contemplation as he wipes the slight excess between his hands and adjusts the towel on his shoulders.

Then he crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders slightly. Lance body language for _about to say something Keith might fight him on_.

"…Can I," Lance asks, "take a look at it?"

Keith blinks, brows furrowed.

Lance can already see it. It's huge. He wants to see it up close? Why?

"Why?"

Lance takes a step closer, bringing him just shy of Keith's personal space. "You know I'm the king of skincare, man. I might have something that could… I dunno, smooth out the edges, or decrease the prominence of the scarring over time, or something. Just… lemme see?"

Keith doesn't immediately respond, and Lance doesn't get any closer.

"I won't touch it if you don't want me to."

"No, that's― it's fine," Keith finally replies, glancing down and away. "Go ahead."

Because why not? He trusts Lance, and the worst that can happen is that there won't be anything he can do. There's no real _reason_ for him to refuse. No reason for him to be apprehensive. But then again, there's also no reason for him to be so strangely breathless as Lance finally moves closer, well into his space, the gold collar of his Altean pajama shirt filling Keith's vision until―

"Hey."

Warm fingers find his chin and gently, firmly, coax it up, tilt it to the side.

Keith's eyes dart up and catch on Lance's, just for a moment―

He looks to the side, and Lance's gaze flicks down to the scar on his cheek. Lance exhales, peering cautiously around to see the extent of the jagged discoloration, turning Keith's head a bit more. His hand slips lightly along to cup the opposite side of Keith's jaw, cradling it in his palm. His fingers are warm on Keith's skin, soft from the moisturizer, and so, so gentle. And Lance's eyes on Keith's face are, somehow, even more so.

All Lance is doing so far is examining the mark, and yet, Keith has never felt so carefully taken care of. So existentially precious.

It makes something restless within him.

"Well…?" Keith prompts.

"It went through another epidural layer closer to your jaw, but not around the edges. And it kinda looks… cauterized." Lance's brows furrow, as if he's imagining something painful. Keith wishes he wouldn't. "Maybe _instantly_ cauterized. Plasma weapon?"

"…Yeah." Keith hopes his lack of elaboration doesn't betray exactly which weapon it was. But it probably does. After all, Lance may not be the best at math, but even he knows this: Only two paladins went into that wormhole, and one of them has a _built-in_ plasma weapon.

"Guess that explains why the pod wouldn't get rid of it, then. Can't heal what isn't actually a wound anymore, right?" Lance follows the curve of the scar up toward Keith's eye. "Is it… okay if I…?"

Lance brings his free hand up, and Keith nods just barely into his palm. "It's fine. Just regular scar tissue now, doesn't hurt."

So Lance gently cups the other side of Keith's jaw and, with the most delicate tenderness, stretches the edge of the scar upward with his thumb.

Keith isn't sure, but Lance's hand might be trembling a little.

"…It really doesn't hurt?"

"No."

"Shit, dude. Any closer to your eye, and you'd have probably lost it. You're gonna have to be careful… applying anything, skincare-wise. Don't get too close."

"Right." Keith is starting to feel a little winded. He clutches the edge of the sink behind him. Has his breath been caught in his throat this whole time? This is― They have to keep talking, move this along. "That's― yeah. It's okay though, if you don't have anything for this. Or if there's, you know, nothing that can be done." He takes a deep, steadying breath. "I can probably just get used to it."

Lance's eyes flick up finally and Keith accidentally catches them again. But this time, he can't look away, and he really wishes he could.

Because something in them ― something determined, something fiery and impulsive, something that tastes like the Red Lion on the back of his tongue and reminds him that this is the boy who persistently followed him from cargo class to fighter class, across the desert and out of his old life, who somewhere between then and now became so determined to _support Keith_ that the very nature of his quintessence changed ― makes heat rush to his face and his pulse speed up. And this close, Lance will definitely notice.

Sure enough, Lance smirks. "Well, I guess _someone_ out there will probably still think you're hot."

…Yep, Keith is getting teased again.

Lance's tone is maybe not as facetious as Keith would have expected, but Keith just dismisses it, waving it off with a little scoff.

"Yeah, whatever." He rolls his eyes, and the action tilts his head a bit more, but not far enough for it to fall out of Lance's gentle hold on him. If anything, Lance's thumb just brushes along where Keith's jaw flexes when he speaks, and it lights a tiny spark where his breath keeps catching in his chest. And since they're back to this, Keith will play along. He's never been good at backing down, anyway. "Like who?"

Lance pouts and a slow flush blooms across his face. _Hah_ , Keith thinks. Lance isn't so confident now that Keith wants details. It's such a silly game; Keith doesn't really care if no one finds him attractive, but he'll never get tired of calling Lance's bluffs. Who will he name? Acxa? Someone from the Blade? Zarkon???

But surprisingly, Lance dodges eye contact, looking earnestly back down at the scar and shuffling weight to his other foot. "S-Someone!" He insists vaguely. "Someday. Look, I'm just saying, there are _gazillions_ of people in the universe, with all kinds of different definitions of beauty, and– and some who don't care about physical looks at all! You know? And there will _definitely_ be someone who―"

Oh geez, Lance is serious. "Lance," Keith interrupts, Lance's gaze jerking back up to meet his. "It's _fine_ , I don't care, even if no one thinks I'm―"

" _I_ do," Lance suddenly interjects.

The palm still cradling Keith's jaw is sweating lightly.

"…You… care?" Keith wonders. "Or…"

"No, I―! Well, yes, obviously, I care. But no, I mean― Oh my god, _I_ think you're hot, you fucking cactus. You―" Lance gulps, and his eyes roam Keith's face anxiously, "I think you're insanely, unfairly hot. Even with the scar."

Keith's heart stutters and beats hard like a timpani, just once. But then he's the one breaking eye contact, sighing in a harsh exhale through his nose, brows furrowed. "Okay, now I _know_ you're fucking with me."

He goes to pull back, but suddenly Lance's hand is… less gentle, fingertips behind Keith's ear urging him back.

"No–!" Lance starts.

" _You_ think _I'm_ hot," Keith declares sarcastically, meeting his eyes with a challenge. "Like… like some curvy alien _girl_? Look, if this is a joke on how long my hair is getting, you don't need to–"

"I'm serious!" And Lance _looks_ serious, crowding closer, as if Keith might try to escape again. "Keith, I'm… I'm serious." Lance cages him in with his other hand, and Keith can only clutch the sink with both hands behind him, eyes locked on Lance's. "I'll prove it."

If Lance is still teasing him, just doing this because he doesn't want to back down, it's far further than Keith would have expected him to go.

"Lance," he breathes. Because, what if― What if Lance is actually _not_ teasing him anymore? "Wh-…? P– Prove it…?"

Does that mean Lance is saying that he'll… that he wants to―?

Lance's eyes drop down to Keith's lips, and back up. Even just that, such a tiny inclination, feels like a jolt of electricity through Keith's chest, all the way down to his fingertips.

Anticipation is ignited between them, around them, and inside every atom of Keith's body. If he touches Lance, he's not sure whether he's going to shove Lance away or… or…

Lance inches closer, and when he speaks his voice is lower, quieter. "…Let me?"

He gives Keith plenty of time to push him away, but Keith―

One of Keith's hands comes up to Lance's hip, where they're almost flush together. Not to push him away, but to hold him there. To ground himself. To be sure that this is really happening. That he's really _letting_ this happen.

He isn't sure that Lance won't laugh at him later for giving in so easily, especially if this _is_ somehow some elaborate joke. But Keith doesn't think he can help it.

A broken little "Okay" rumbles out of his mouth, only a shuddery breath away from Lance's.

He tilts further into Lance's palm, and Lance angles in with a reverent, barely-open press to his lips, soft but sure. Their mouths move together in sync, with a slow, natural rhythm, and Keith can _feel_ the want in it ― in the proximity of Lance's body, in his smell, in the little quiver of breath through his nose, in the way one kiss doesn't feel _quite like enough_ so they slot their lips together an unprompted second time.

In the way he's slow to pull back, brushing their lips together, as if trying to stretch every last moment of the kiss.

When Keith's eyes open, Lance's thumb strokes over that spot on his jaw again. Lance is looking at him, and Keith feels like he could melt. He could burn. He could run in circles. He could form the Black Lion's wing boosters. He could take down the rest of the Galra empire all by himself. He could kiss Lance again. And again and again.

More than ever, it's terrifying how attracted he is to Lance. How easily he could lose himself in the comfort of this, the distraction ― the _happiness_ ― and how savagely it might break him if he were to have it and then lose it the same way he's lost the others he's cared the most deeply about.

But at the same time, this kiss is like ten thousand thunderstorms in his veins. After this little taste of closeness, how could he not find the courage? Somewhere in himself, as the Black Paladin, he has to be brave.

"See?" Lance bumps their foreheads together with a shaky little smirk. "Could I do that If I didn't think you're hot? You're– You're hot. _God_ , Keith," he pleads. "You're beautiful. You're _so_ beautiful, and– and strong, and you―" Lance's smirk falters and slowly drops, and his voice becomes breathy and desperate. "You almost didn't make it back this time. Just how close _was_ it? No, don't answer that. I wouldn't even… You―"

"Lance," Keith grips Lance's waist, abandons all pretense, and kisses him again.

This time is a little wetter, a little less careful. There's an undercurrent of desperation, as Lance replaces some of that delicate gentleness with a surge of passion. It's as though he's been holding in this bright, inflated thing, this yearning, and now he's only barely restrained. Lance presses his worry against Keith's lips, and slides his relief along Keith's tongue, and Keith shudders with affection, kissing back hard as if to assure Lance by force of physical contact alone that he's not going anywhere anymore.

When they part this time, still pressed close, noses brushing through the shadows between them, it looks like Lance is gearing up to say something else. It looks like he's trying. His eyes dart between Keith's, and he hesitates.

"I…" he starts. "I wasn't gonna tell you, but, I mean, I… I… hngnn." He seems to give up, leaning suddenly so his head slips down to rest on Keith's shoulder.

Keith smirks. "Yeah?" Lance responds only with another strangled noise, but between that and their makeshift embrace, Keith understands the confession. He shifts his arm to wrap around Lance a little bit more. "How… how long have you–"

"Shut up," Lance grumbles, turning his face to hide it somewhere below Keith's ear. Keith chuckles at his expense, anyway. Eventually, Lance finally murmurs into his skin, "…A really long time."

"…Oh." What else can Keith say to that? He smiles and leans back against the sink, tightening his arms around Lance. Letting them both just enjoy this ― some kind of culmination, the birth of _something_ blooming between them and inside them. Keith has been so afraid of it for so long, but, strangely, now that it's happening, he finds that all he can do is appreciate it. Losing Lance would hurt no matter what, after all. Maybe the worst regret Keith could have would be _not_ treasuring this intimacy while he can have it. After another few moments, Keith nudges Lance's jaw with his nose, just enough that Lance's gaze meets his out of the corner of his eyes. "Do you… wanna be with me? Stay with me, by my side?"

Lance's eyes widen marginally and his face, already a little flushed, seems to darken further. A wry, astonished little smile slowly, crookedly, quirks his lips upwards. "Yeah," he breathes, "as long as you'll have me. I mean, good luck getting _rid_ of me."

He finishes with a little smirk and a soft caress of his thumb at Keith's nape, and Keith can't help but smile in return. He has no idea what his face looks like; he doesn't think he's ever made an expression like this before, because he's never felt like this. It must be pretty dopey, because Lance is starting to look all too pleased with himself.

So with one more soft kiss to the curve of Lance's jaw, Keith bends and pushes himself off the sink. "Come on then," he says, starting to move out of their warm, shared space. Still reluctant to relinquish contact, though, he slides a hand down to squeeze one of Lance's before letting go completely. "We do need to rest before we leave in the morning."

Lance's fond gaze follows him, and he sighs as he moves to gather his scattered skincare products. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But it feels like all we _do_ is rest, while we're out there, and it's gonna be even worse in the supervoids. And no offense to Red ― seriously, Red, love you, hotstuff ― but, you know, she's like, the _smallest_ lion, except maybe Green. Can't exactly throw a rave in there―"

Keith isn't really paying attention. He's caught a glimpse of his reflection once more in the mirror.

The scar still reaches upwards across his cheek, dark and sharp. But now when he stares at it, he remembers―

― _Lance's careful touch, handling Keith's jaw as though Keith is precious. His eyes, gentle, assessing, focused, striated layers of sky and ocean, flickering back and forth to meet Keith's. His voice, his words, teasing, soft, unsure, his mouth, his lips_ ―

Keith smiles.

"―Especially with Kaltenecker taking up so much space in the cargo bay! So I just end up pacing up and down Red's whole body sometimes, and then she gets antsy because _I'm_ antsy, which makes me even _more_ antsy, and it's this whole terrible feedback loop, dude. _Dude_ , what are you― That's _my_ room!"

They are, in fact, both standing at the threshold of Lance's room.

"Yeah," Keith says, smirking. "I know."


End file.
